So there I was in Petco on September 9, 1999, trying to purchase a 40-lb. bag of chow for my dog. For some reason, the 17-year-old bottled blonde struggling with my debit card looked me up and down and said, "Are you, like, a computer guy?"

How do you take a question like that? OK, so I wear glasses (but not black-rimmed or masking-taped) and sport a bulge in my left-rear jeans pocket that might have betrayed my Palm organizer – if she could recognize one. But no, something in her frank, innocent stare told me that all my attempts to cultivate an air of normalcy had failed miserably. I was mentally whisked back to the mocking hell of junior high when Mom forced me to wear Plain Pockets jeans and Dad thought that a sky-blue winter jacket that could transform into a self-containing backpack was the ultimate in cool for his boy. (He has preserved the jacket for me all these years, presumably in case I should ever need it after shrinking ten sizes.)

Anyway, deciding to drop all pathetic attempts to hide my identity, I replied to the checkout girl, "Yes."

She leaned forward and whispered, "What about this whole date thing? The 9/9/99? Is everyone's computer gonna crash?" You should have seen her pale face. This girl, a teen-aged member of tomorrow's technology vanguard, was honestly worried. Mind you, it was already about 8:00 PM.

I said, "No. Everything will be fine." Fortunately, I'd already spotted preliminary news briefs confirming this sage opinion.

"What about Y2K? What's that all about?"

"Same thing," I replied. "Big companies running mainframe computers might need to worry, but not people like you and me."

Her expression remained unchanged, either from incomprehension, disbelief, or having accidentally swallowed her gum. So as I signed my debit-card slip and shouldered the dog food, I continued, "You want to know a secret?" She nodded. "OK. On New Year's Eve, make sure you turn off every PC in your house. Don't turn it back on until the next morning. That way, the machine doesn't rollover into 2000 with the power on. It's called the rollover problem. Just that'll fix 90 percent of the Y2K problems on everyone's computers."

"Really?" she asked, clutching the counter.

"Really," I replied, wondering if I were on hidden camera. "Trust me. I'm a computer guy."

"Oh, my God, what a relief," she sighed, and turned to the next customer. Seriously, I'm not making this up.

Now, I've written three or four feature stories about Y2K, and I'd hoped (in vain, obviously) to keep this twisted mess away from my personal life. But I find myself thinking a lot about my upcoming 30th birthday in 2000, which, in case you need to be beaten over the head with it, is really the year BEFORE the new millennium. My wife tells me to shut up about my age – it's no big deal.

I just bought the new Writer’s Market 2000 edition ($50!), only to find that the bundled software is just as unwieldy as last year's. Today, I saw a ZDNet story about how Microsoft was likely downgrading its forthcoming "Millennium" flavor of Windows from a full-on next-generation product to merely an OEM Service Release. Microsoft's reply was, "The product is still in early development," which seems in amply precedented accord with Microsoft's original release date of September 1999. Coincidentally, I have a friend whose devout grandmother had a near-death experience in which God informed her that the world would end in September of 1999. Perhaps Microsoft's delay has helped to avert the disaster.

Anyway, the point is that I'm apocalyptically tired of hearing about Y2K, millennium this and that, and would somebody please shoot me if I should accidentally buy a ticket to one of the Year 2000-themed idiot flicks soon to be released? It was bad enough having to spend two weeks in a state hospital after seeing Sandra Bullock in The Net. Please.

And don't think there will be any respite after the holiday season. Remember, we've got a Year 2000/Next Millennium Presidential campaign cranking up. So far, that's the best reason I can find to buy an isolated ranch in Montana with a two-year supply of powdered pork and evaporated milk.

Although rampant levels of stupidity surrounding the end of this year seem all but insurmountable, would you like one last example? Of course, you would.

How many times have you heard people talk about all the craziness that swept civilization at the turn of the year 1000? There are no records to support apocalyptic beliefs at this time. Among the population, only the priesthood understood the Julian calendar system, a system which was not only inaccurate (compared to our current Gregorian calendar) but also persisted in numerous pockets of Europe even into the 19th and 20th centuries. And what about the millions of Buddhists, Jews, Mayans, and others who didn't (and still don't) share in a Christian calendar? Shakespeare once asked what's in a name. I would ask the same of a date.

And on that note, here are my five suggestions for dealing with date-related dumbness:

1. When someone tries to let you in on his or her latest end-of-the-world prophecy, please just smile and walk away. Odds are this person either a.) wants to sell you something or b.) is mentally unstable and possibly dangerous. What little support there is for medieval millennialism points to piety whipped up by the ruling church or ruling empire, often for the sake of one side trying to steal power and influence from the other. Have a brain and don't be a pawn.

2. Stock up on two weeks' worth of food, camping supplies, and cash for early January. Not because of breakdowns in banks, supply chains, transportation, and whatnot. All that will be fine. Just 'cause it's WINTER, people! Storms happen and you should have that stuff on hand. Canned food is generally more economical and healthy than eating out. Especially some of the new Campbell's low-fat soups with the white labels. Mmm, those are yummy. Besides, you'll be both fat and broke after the holidays, so the change will do you good.

3. If you can find a new software release over the next twelve months that calls itself "version 7.0" or such, buy it. That tells me the vendor is more concerned with the product than the marketing hype centered on this insipid calendar issue.

4. I've evaluated just about every piece of Y2K diagnostic software on the market today, and nearly all of them are worthless. I'm serious. I get paid to try and paint this picture about how such utilities will save humankind and all, but now I'm telling you my honest impression. It's a big marketing scam. Go download the free patches from Microsoft, Intuit, IBM, Corel, and whatever other software vendors you use. Install them and get back to surfing for MP3 files or something. I've only found two uses for Y2K diagnostic software: 1.) Fixing two-digit date fields in spreadsheets to four-digit, a process which may or may not matter depending on your version. 2.) Adding a memory-sucking TSR to your config. files to trick the system into thinking it's 2000. Hel-lo! Do the power-off rollover trick instead! It works! If you're still worried, do like your momma said and backup your data files. Duh.

5. Try not to get sucked into the wave of Y2K- and millennium-related colloquialisms that will inevitably surface next year. The noun: "I was sure my wife was cheating on me, but it was just a big Y2K." The adjective: "We're going to Tahiti for Spring Break? Dude, that's millennial!" The verb: "The media has Y2Ked the McDonalds' e. coli scare into a veritable Ebola outbreak." By 2002, you'll feel the same way about such speech mannerisms as I do about Plain Pockets jeans.

November 1999